The Blind and the Clueless
by warrior of the nile
Summary: When Greg first meets John Watson, he mentally wishes Sherlock the best. Lord knows that man needs someone who can keep up with him. When John keeps coming back, Greg is impressed. When they seem perfect for each other for each other, but neither of the blind idiots see it, well. Then Greg is less so.


The last thing Greg is expecting when he calls Sherlock in for another case, is for him to have someone with him. Why would he? Sherlock works alone. He's always worked alone. Not that there is a line of volunteer's waiting to help him, but the point stands.

Sherlock is a lone wolf.

Only this time he isn't. He marches right past all of the other officers, a smaller, stockier, blonde man at his side. He is wearing a woolly jumper, sturdy denim, practical shoes, a good coat. The only thing about him that stands out is the arm in a sling. He looks like one of those blokes your eye slide right off of in public.

So why is he with Sherlock, Mr Peacock himself? The detective couldn't be anymore spectacular if he tried. Or, well, be probably could, but Greg doesn't want to encourage him. He also has a bad habit of being a bit of a tosser.

"Who's this?" he asks.

Sherlock, being the ever helpful person that he is, answers, "He's with me."

"Yeah, but that doesn't tell me _who_ he is, now does it."

"He's _with me_ ," Sherlock emphasizes and walks off towards the body.

Greg rolls his eyes in exasperation. Damn the man.

"Sorry," the man smiles apologetically, "this isn't going to be a problem, is it?"

Greg sighs. Well at least this one has manners. "No more than His Highness over there. Can I get a name at least?"

"Oh sure, I'm-"

"John," Sherlock calls over his shoulder impatiently.

The man, John apparently, gives another rueful smile, walks over to the detective and kneels down beside him. "You called?" he asks dryly.

Greg feels his mouth twitch. Polite _and_ sassy. This one has potential. Maybe Sherlock has finally found someone who can keep up with him _and_ put up with him. He hopes so. The tosser needs someone, even if he'll never admit it.

-xxXXXxx-

The next time Greg sees John with Sherlock, he has to admit he's impressed. Looks like he got pass the two week mark anyways. His arm is still in a sling, but he seems better today. There were circles under his eyes last time that Greg didn't pay attention to. It's only now that they are gone that he notices them.

He looks brighter, somehow, without them. A little less average. Or that could be because the look on his face when he is listening to Sherlock speak. Christ, he looks smitten. Not obviously lovesick, but it looks like the man has fallen for the resident detective. This is a disaster waiting to happen. Sherlock doesn't do feelings and he most certainly does not do dates.

Sally, who is standing beside him, must see it too because she groans. "Damn, poor bastard. Bad enough to be stuck with the Freak, but to actually _like_ him?"

"Donovan," he warns.

"What Chief? You know it's true."

"I know you don't like him, but I'm tired of correcting you any time he is around. _Professionalism_ ," he stresses.

"I'll be professional when _he_ is."

"Fine than, how about this. Don't antagonize him. I am aware that either you or Anderson generally start it. If you don't have anything nice to say, keep your mouth shut."

"And play the victim here?"

"Never you Sally," Sherlock informs her as he approaches them, "You have too much fight."

Sally crosses her arms. "Is that suppose to be a compliment? Because I don't buy it. Who's this?"

"He's with me."

Oh Christ, here we go again. "John, nice to see you again," he greets, cutting Sally off.

John smiles. "You too... DI Lestrade, was it?"

"Yes, but call me Greg. Unless I get a last name to go with John?"

Sherlock snorts. "Subtle as always," he says and then brushes past them, going farther into the scene.

John smiles after him. "John Watson," he answers.

"And what are you doing with the Freak?" Sally asks.

John looks over at her sharply. "I beg your pardon?" His tone sounds pleasant enough, but Greg can't help the slight chill that runs down his spine. Maybe not so ordinary after all.

"The Freak," Sally repeats, obviously not noticing, "Why are you with him?"

"I could be mistaken, but I believe that is none of your business."

"I'm just trying to be nice. Make sure you know about him. You know why he does this?"

"I'm sure your about to tell me."

"He gets off on it. It's how he gets his kicks. The man is a psychopath, not someone to follow around like a lovesick puppy."

"Right," he straightens up, "Now I _know_ this is none of your business," his voice sharpens.

Sally shrugs, "It's your funeral," she says casually as she walks away in the other direction.

Greg sighs. Why can't his life ever be simple? She has so much potential and she is a good officer, but she _will not_ leave Sherlock alone. He's tried basically everything at this point short of transferring her. And he can't do that because he needs her. And because she has more of a right to be here than Sherlock does.

John is looking at him, eyes more steel than warmth. The easy smile is gone and he is watching Sally chat with the other officers. "This a problem?" he asks.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Not everyone... likes Sherlock around here."

"You mean most of the people think he is an arrogant bastard?" There is a certain amount of humor in the question and Greg feels relieved.

"Something like that. He's a brilliant man, don't get me wrong, but he can be a bit..."

"Not good?" John offers.

"Yes. Some days I want to strangle him myself," he admits.

John laughs. "Oh, I know the feeling, believe me. But it's worth it."

Oh yes, he has it bad. "Listen," he starts, "you might want to be careful."

"About what?" And there is that steel again.

Greg holds up his hands. "I'm not trying to say anything bad here. I just want to tell you that I have never known Sherlock to be interested in anyone romantically before. In fact, I have seen him reduce people to tears before. He claims he's married to his work."

John's shoulders relax. "Oh, that. No worries there mate, I know what I'm doing," he smiles before he joins the detective, talking quietly with him.

No, Greg doesn't think he does, but he's not about to bring it up again. Once was nerve racking enough. At least he knows the man has enough nerve to stand Sherlock's life style.

-xxXXXxx-

"Damn it you berk, will you hold still!" a now familiar voice, John, commands out of view.

Greg heads towards it, confident he knows exactly with 'berk' the man is referring to. And it just so happens that right now, he couldn't agree more. They had just ended a five day long case with Sherlock's help that ended in a chase. As in, Sherlock took off after the suspect with no professional backup. Again.

Not that Greg really expects any differently by now, having worked with the detective for five years now. But it does get trying and not just because it makes everything harder. No, it's because Greg is worried that one of these days, the man is going to get himself killed.

At least he has John with him, now. Over the last few months Greg still doesn't know much about this mysterious flatmate. He doesn't talk about himself and his blog is filled with stories of Sherlock's cases, not anything personal. No personal history, no childhood memories. Hell, Greg doesn't even know if the man has a job, other than keeping up with Sherlock.

As the two men come into view, he has to pause and blink for a moment. There are the usual cars and ambulance, of course, but what surprises Greg is who he sees sitting in the back of the ambulance, legs swinging restlessly. One Mr Sherlock Holmes himself. Shirtless. John is in front of him, stitching a long gash on his side.

"Really John, this is hardly necessary."

"Unless you want to end up in the A&E, yes it is. And I distinctly recall how well you like going there."

"A minor cut."

"A fifteen centimeter cut."

Greg can't help but watch in amusement as John bullies Sherlock into submission. By time he has finished, the detective shrugs his shirt back on, clearly pouting. "Shut up," he tells him.

"I didn't say anything," Greg answers with a smirk.

"You were thinking it."

Greg turns to John. "Nice work there. Glad to know someone can keep this one in line long enough to make sure he doesn't drop dead before he gets help."

John smirks in return. "Ta, I've had loads of practice."

Greg has to wonder just what those two are getting up to in their spare time for John to have that much practice. He's only been living with the detective for two months after all. Surely Sherlock can't be getting into _that_ much trouble, can he? Then again...

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "John is a doctor Lestrade, do keep up. Even _I_ can't get into that much trouble."

He sounds highly offended, with just makes Greg think he was right. The man is a magnet for trouble. But he ignores the thought in favor of this new information. "Are you? Sounds right useful with this one here."

John smiles. "It has it's uses."

Greg chuckles. "I'm sure. Now I'd like your statements." Sherlock opens his mouth, but he cuts the man off, "No. I am well aware that if I don't get the now, I will be waiting a week till John finally drags you down to the office."

Sherlock gives a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I knew it was the brother-in-law from the start from the state of his shoes..."

-xxXXXxx-

Greg watches as Sherlock paces the room, muttering to himself as he does. Everyone's eyes follow him, even those who are trying not to. He is their only lead by now, although not all the other officers will admit it.

It has been a long day. It has been a long week. Any case involving children is always tense, that's a given. But death or threat of death make them that much worse. And that is what they are dealing with now. Kidnapping and ransom. Only the kidnapper doesn't want money. No. They want secret government plans.

The deadline is fast approaching and they have ran out of clues. Even Sherlock is having a difficult time, not that he would ever admit it. Off to the side, John's eyes are one of the pairs that are following the detective. There is a furrow to his brows and a frown on his lips. This is the first truly frustrating case John has been on since he moved in with Sherlock six months ago. From the tension in his shoulder's he is as worried as the rest of them.

"Think, think!" Sherlock mutters, a little bit louder than the rest, enough that those in the room can actually understand him.

"What's the matter Freak?" Anderson sneers and oh good god, when Lestrade gets a hold of him for baiting Sherlock at a time like this, "Can't solve a seemingly simple puzzle?" Mocking what Sherlock had said at the beginning of the case, "Or do you want to see the kid dead?"

Yes, Anderson is so very _dead_ "Anderson!" he bellows just as John straightens up and glares at the man.

"Oh will you shut up you bloody berk!" And here is that steel Greg saw all those months ago. "Like you can do any better. All you lot do is complain about the help you get – which you desperately need – instead of actually attempting to do something half way useful. No wonder Sherlock needs to be called in all the time, you're hopeless. The kidnapper might as well be going around with a bleeding blinking sign above his head for all you 'observe'."

Greg gets the strangest feeling that there should be quotation marks around the last word.

"Or are you waiting for an invitation for bloody tea and biscuits? A chat in the evil lair, guarded by a dragon?" That last has so much sarcasm to it, Greg is supremely impressed. That was pass a Sherlock level of sarcasm. That was a _Mycroft_ level. Very impressive.

"Tea... dragon... lair! That's it!" Sherlock shouts, making one of those connections that makes sense only to him. How the bloody hell did he figure anything out by _that_?! Sometimes Greg really hates this man. "John you are an absolute genius! Completely brilliant! Amazing!" Sherlock all but gushes and what the hell? "Of course that's exactly where he would go, the drama queen."

And look who's talking.

"Come on John," he reaches for John's hand excitedly, "we have a dragon to slay!" The detective runs out of the room, dragging the other man behind him.

"Sherlock!" Greg shouts after him, but he doesn't stop. Neither of them do. Which means that once again he has no idea where those two are going. Which means they have no back up. Again. And that Greg's case is no longer his case. Also again.

Yes, sometimes he really hates that man.

-xxXXXxx-

Yes, sometimes he really hates this man, Lestrade thinks as he takes in the scene.

For supposedly being a genius, the detective can be a right idiot sometimes. And this, right here and now, is definitely one of those times. Once again Sherlock has run off on a lead, with only John as back up. And this time, they have run into some serious trouble.

They have been chasing a smuggling ring, with various degrees of success, for some months now. Sherlock wasn't even involved in the case. But then one of his clients _was_. And that meant Sherlock was completely out of Greg's jurisdiction. Not that he ever really was, but at least when Greg called him in, he could demand a certain amount of order. Now he had nothing.

Which led to this scene right here. They had the ring surrounded, but the ring currently had both Sherlock and John hostage. With guns. He is going to kill Sherlock for endangering his flatmate like this. Sure, the other man had kept up so far, but he was a doctor for Christ's sake. Not that doctors couldn't be formidable, in their own way, but in a bloody stand off?

"Any closer an' yer meddlin' detective an' 'is doc get their heads blown off," the leader tells them, sneering at them.

Sherlock has the nerve to look bored, on his knees, arms being held roughly by two other men. John isn't much better to be honest. In fact Greg thinks he actually rolls his eyes at the threat. What the hell? Hidden steel is one thing, but this? Shouldn't he be a little nervous at least, if not scared? But no, that was definitely an eye roll because he does it again when the leader waves his gun in a threatening manner. Please don't tell him he has _two_ idiots on his hands? He thought John was suppose to be the normal one?

Then he watches as the two men look at each other and nod. As one they twist out of their captors grip and... well... Frankly Greg is impressed as hell to witness what happens next. In a fight in seven against two, the two promptly wipe the seven's arses. Badly.

Sherlock he can understand. He knows Sherlock can fight, he has seen it before. He has that wiry strength everyone always underestimates. But John... John Watson, the seemingly mild manner doctor, pistol whips the first man and knocks out another within the first five seconds of moving. He takes out more men than Sherlock does, actually. With vengeance and deadly precision. Sure, as a doctor, he should know exactly where to hit. But still... what the hell?!

The last man is down, via John cutting off his air supply, and those two have the bloody nerve to grin at each other. As if they were playing a game, having a lark, instead of just having their lives threatened! And god, he _does_ have two idiots on his hands, one just hides it better.

"What the bloody hell?!" he marches right over to the two grinning morons and demands. "Seriously, you told me John was a doctor. Where did _that_ come from?"

John grins at him. "Army doctor," he clarifies.

"That doesn't mean you are suppose to fight."

John's grin grows. "I had bad days."

"Oh yes," Sherlock adds, also grinning broadly, clearly enjoying this, "he can break every bone in your body, while naming them."

John starts giggling at that. Bloody giggling. Sherlock joins him and Greg throws his hands up in the air. He isn't paid enough to deal with this shite.

-xxXXXxx-

"Cheers, mates," Greg tells the table full of people as he sets the drinks down. It was the end of a long week and it was unanimously decided a trip to the pub was in order.

"Cheers," some of the guys echo back, grinning. He makes sure Molly, who had been convinced to come along, had hers before taking a sip of his own. He sighs in relief. That's more like it.

"Really John," Sherlock complains and Greg takes another sip to hide his smile. John had even convinced His Highness to come along. It had taken some work, but that had been the amusing part of it. The detective looks much too posh to be in a pub like this.

How those two still haven't seen how right for each other they are, he doesn't know. In the beginning, sure, he can understand. But after a year? It has gone from funny to just plain frustrating. How could they not see it?

"No Sherlock, we are not having this argument. I'm getting you something and that's final."

"Fine," Sherlock huffs sulkily, "I want-"

"I know, I know. You want fish and chips with extra chips and sauce on the side because it makes the food too soggy otherwise. Be right back." John gets up from the table and goes to fetch said food.

It takes everything in Greg not to drop his head to the table. Or smack himself in the face. Because really? Idiots. Two blind idiots.

John comes back with their food and smiles at the detective. Sherlock sticks his tongue out at him and eats a chip. "Good boy," John teases, patting Sherlock on the head.

"Oh for god's sake!" Greg exclaims, getting everyone's attention at their table.

"What?" John asks confused, while Sherlock takes one look at him and rolls his eyes.

The nerve of that man. "The two of you!" he says instead, "How can you not realize how perfect you are for each other? You're like a bleeding romance novel. The reason people believe in soulmates. And yet it's been over a year and you still aren't dating!" He moves his hands in between the two men for emphasis. "Seriously you two, it's so obvious even _Anderson_ sees it."

The two men share a look before Sherlock rolls his eyes again. The look on his face is the 'Really? How can you be so stupid?' look.

John clears his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. "Um, mate," he starts and has to stop another giggle, "We're married."

"You're what?!"

John nods. "Went to uni together and popped the question before I got shipped out."

"Married?" Greg asks again, mainly from shock, "and neither of you thought to mention this?"

"Really Graham, it was obvious," Sherlock tells him, looking smug.

Bastard.


End file.
